


Childhood is the Kingdom Where Nobody Dies

by Fangirlingmanaged



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-04 20:23:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18611860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: Tony and Steve loved one another, once. Before their choices tore their family apart, but as a new threat approaches they have no choice but to come together again. For the sake of what's left. For the sake of their family.And maybe... because despite the hurt and the bitterness, there is no one without the other. Sometimes, all it takes it's a leap of faith and the conviction to fight for those you love most.Basically, Infinity War-Endgame fix-it because I wholeheartedly reject canon.





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Endgame who? i don't know her.

            When Tony gets the papers handed to him by the social worker, he can’t stop shaking. He stares at the woman, half blanking out-half terrified of them, but luckily she seems to have practice with this. She takes hold of his sleeve instead of handing him the papers, herds him towards the chair she had just vacated, and lets him fall heavily into it. Marina, that’s her name, gives him an amused smile as he continues to gape up at her. Normally he would try to pull himself together in front of a stranger, but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. He’s—words escape him.

            “do you want me to start fanning you with the folder?” she says with a smirk. She appears unrepentant of her candor and teasing in the face of one of the most powerful men in the world, and that helps. It brings a sense of familiarity that he’s been missing for far too long, and has refused to think about for almost as long.

            “I’m—I’m good. I just—are you sure?” His voice trembles, and it’s a testament to his shock that he hasn’t done anything yet to regain his composure. “It’s real this time?”

            Marina’s face softens, and the smile she sends his way now is actually genuine. She gently places the folder on his thighs, because she knows about his _thing_ about being handed things and she’s worked to not make him uncomfortable since they met four years ago. She used to hand the paperwork to someone else, someone willing to take his weight from him, but that’s gone now so they’ve made do.

            “Yes, Tony. I’m absolutely, one hundred percent sure. They just confirmed with me yesterday. We’ll set up an appointment, yes?”

            “I—yeah. Yeah, you can just—I can—”

            “I’ll talk to Pepper. She’ll get you there, I’m sure. For now, I think it’d be best if you went home, yes? Break the news?” Her smile spreads fully on her face, and Tony can feels his lips doing the same. It’s finally sinking in, that this is real, it’s true. This is actually happening, and even thoug he knows that the anger, and despair and bitterness will hit him later, for now all he feels is elation.

            “Yes! Yes, I need to—see yourself out, I’ll be—” he can’t even fully form sentences, that’s how excited he is. He walks to the door, makes it three steps into the hall, before he remembers his wallet and phone are still on his desk not to mention _the folder_ had dropped to the floor in his haste. So he does an about face worthy of praise, and rushes back into the room. Marina is standing right where she left him with, with all the papers neatly inside the folder and his cell phone and wallet arranged on his desk.

            He rushes past her to snatch them up, and she gives a breathy laugh at his enthusiasm. And then, without thinking, Tony plucks the folder from her hands. The mistrust and the panic don’t even register in his head. There is literally nothing here that would hurt him. On the contrary, it gives him more hope than most of the shitty things in his life. So he takes the folder from her, and then in a bout of unequivocal gratefulness and affection for the woman that had seen him through this process for so long, kisses her on the forehead.

            Then he rushes out of the office, cell phone in hand to ask a very important question on his way to the garage:

            “Hey, are you home? I have news.” A pause, and Tony’s smile threatens to split his face. “The best.”

           

                                                            ***

He enters the compound in the same way that he had exited his office, almost running and breathless from excitement. The folder in his hands feels heavy, like the weight of the whole world rests in a few flimsy pages, and he figures it might as well. They had been waiting, so long, for something like this to happen. So many opportunities that had fallen through, so many disappointments that had broken everyone’s hearts, but this time… oh, this time I real. This time the proof is right there in his hands.

“Dad!” the voice comes from somewhere to his left, and he realizes that he had come to a stop just inside the entryway, the folder still clasped in his hands. The boy runs down the hall and slides just in front of Tony, losing his balance, and the mechanic quickly throws his arm out to catch him. The boy giggle-gasps as he steadies himself, “what happened? What’s going on?”

“Pete,” Tony says with a broad grin and pulls him into his arms. Peter makes a confused noise, but he has never turned down an ecstatic-Dad-must-share-love hug in his life, and today is not an exception. He hugs his father back enthusiastically, but pulls away after a second. “I—I got something today.”

“Yeah?” Peter asks, his eyes on his father’s. but damn, Tony loves this kid. When Peter had lost May almost two years ago, some petty thief with unsteady hands while Tony and Peter were in Germany, Tony had never thought that he would ever be able to do this full time. Sure he’d had help since the boy was small, since he’d first come live with them in the tower, but things are so different. With just Tony as his sole constant, it had been a gamble of when, not if, he would fuck up. He’s been doing pretty okay, he thinks, all things considered. Especially after—well, it’s best if he doesn’t think about that.

“Yeah,” Tony breathes, bringing him close again. Peter merely snuggles into it, like he used to do when he was little and has been doing more consistently in the past two years as they both tried to work through the grief. “The best, actually. Marina came by my office today right before I called you. She had something for us.”

Peter, bless him, inherited Tony’s brilliance. He might not have been his biologically, but there was never any doubt who his fathers were. He has all the markings of both. His quick wit, however, Tony is totally taking claim for. “She—did she—dad!” that last part is a squeak, eyes bright and smile huge on his face.

“Yeah, bud. It worked! It worked this time!” and Tony, because there is not a single thing he can ever keep from his son, can feel the tears running down his cheeks. He’s smiling wide enough to hurt, and his heart is pounding to a beat that aches, but god. God. It’s the best news, and the only thing he could think about was sharing this moment with his son. His constant.

But there is also pain, and he pushes that solidly to the back of his mind. He can’t afford to destroy Peter’s enthusiasm. It’s the first time since—since, that Tony sees him this happy. His smile hasn’t been this wide since before. For the first time, Tony can say without the shadow of a doubt that his soon is happy, and he doesn’t want to mess this up with his issues. So he takes that pain, and that bitterness, and firmly locks them in a cupboard. He forces himself not to think about the hug, gaping hole of where a third person should be celebrating.

                                                            ***

The shy knock on the door distracts Tony from the bundle he holds tightly, though carefully, in his hands. He’s been sitting in the quiet stillness of the room since the caretaker had shown him where to go. The rocking chair had been a blessing, his bones not being what they used to be even with the nanos, and it seems to help. It had been three weeks since Marina had given him what could possibly be one of the greatest gifts of his life. They had been rushing, and even though they had barely gotten any sleep and had nearly been maimed trying to get everything in order, it had still taken them three weeks. A feat on itself, Marina had said, but it was too long.

But now here Tony is, with a tiny, squishy-soft bundle in his hands, and a sense of love so strong he has only felt twice before. He’s been unable to do anything but stare adoringly down at her the whole hour he’s been here. He could have taken her home, but the sudden hit of love/protectiveness/awe that had filled him from the moment she was placed in his hands kept him.

Plus, he had to wait for someone else, too.

The knock comes again, softly but more insistent. The bundle wiggles, and Tony spares a second to have mild cardiac arrest thinking something will happen. He’s gonna hurt the bundle, or drop it or—or—

“Dad? You in here? The lady said to be careful ‘cause you guys might be sleeping or something even though I thought that was kinda crazy because like you just got here,” ah, yes. His blabbermouth that sometimes impersonates as his soon who had been bouncing off the walls in excitement for a solid three weeks. Tony gets off the rocking chair, carefully like the bundle will explode, and moves to the door. He’s still going out there. “And honestly, with something this important why would you even be sleeping. I didn’t want to say anything because oh my God—"he’s finally noticed Tony in the doorway. “That’s a baby. Oh my God, she’s _so_ tiny. Dad. Dad, you’re holding a baby.”

Tony can’t help it, he chuckles wholeheartedly at his son’s excitement. His heart fills with an adoration for this kid, this boy who had trusted Tony to care for him and love him unconditionally, and lowers the bundle a little. He uses a finger to carefully peel back the thin blanket she’s wrapped in, and angles her face towards Peter. The boy gasps, and Tony can see the tears in his eyes even though he’s smiling so wide. “Come on in, Petey. I think it’s time you met your sister.”

Peter follows him into the room, his steps hesitant, and follows Tony to the rocker without a word. Tony is able to nudge him to sit down, and then carefully crouches in front of his boy, bundle in his arms. They’re both quiet and solemn as Tony passes the baby onto Peter’s arms even though he’s protesting weakly about dropping or hurting her. Tony shushes them both, because Peter’s freak out is starting to make the baby fuss and it’s not going to help any if she starts crying right now. Finally, she’s in Peter’s arms and he looks down at her wide eyed.

“Hi,” he whispers down at her, voice shaky. “Hi, baby, I’m Peter. It’s nice to meet you,” he stretches one of his fingers to touch the baby’s hand and wiggles it up, down, up down in the pantomime of a handshake. Tony is so in love with them both at that moment; his dork of an eldest and his new baby girl. The baby looks up at her with her rich brown eyes, darker than Peter’s and brighter than Tony’s but just enough to make her as _theirs._ “what’s your name?”

“Petey,” Tony says, clearing his throat that suddenly feels tight with emotion. He crouches at Peter’s side, one hand in his hair and the other on the blanket surrounding the baby, and leans a little closer. “Meet your baby sister. Sarah Morgan Stark-Rogers, meet your big brother Peter.”

                                                            ***

Things are a blur for the better part of the next six months as Tony, Peter, Rhodey and even Viz try to figure out how to take care of a baby. Viz keeps regurgitating facts from the internet that have both Tony and Peter convinced that they’re going to kill the baby in less than a week. Rhodey babbles “Three Men and a Baby” quotes when he’s nervous, which happens all the time, and if Tony weren’t so frazzled himself he would tease the holy hell out of him if he weren’t panicking himself. Peter ignores his homework and his patrolling for a good three months, convinced he has to stick to his sister’s side at all costs even though Tony tries to push him to hang out with Ted (“It’s Ned, Dad! God!”) or his girlfriend (“MJ _is not my girlfriend, Dad! Stop it!”)_ to no avail.

Finally, Tony sits him down one day when Rhodey has taken the little girl on her stroll around the compound in an effort to get her down for her nap. At six months, Morgan is fascinated by everything. She babbles at the air like all her friends are there, and gurgles and giggles whenever she sees one of them. She hardly cries; she loves baths and story time before bed. Most of all, she loves Tony taking her to bed in his room, holding a dusty picture frame and telling her the stories of everything she missed. Most of all, whispering the words, “ _he would love you more than the entire world. Loves sé leat, stór.”_

So Tony uses the excuse of having the compound to himself, and the fact that for once Ross is leaving him the hell alone. Paternal leave is working for something, and Tony has never been happier that he had pushed for an extension at Stark Industries despite what the mummies on the board had wanted. Sexist pricks. Peter has been out for the summer for a couple weeks now and he’s spending most of his time glued to his baby sister or trying not to get caught when he tries to go on patrol.

Ross had wanted Tony’s head when the whole Vulture fiasco had happened. Had Tony not been going out of his mind trying to find his reckless son, and if that isn’t the Rogers kicking in full force he would eat the Mark L whole, he would have tried to fight Ross harder on that. As it was, he had the weight of the Accords Council, the UN, SI and Pepper and May to contend with trying to clean that up. Admittedly, he had lost his temper at a crucial moment with his son. Even now, over a year after it all happened, he feels guilt flare in his gut and threaten to choke him. He never should have left Peter so defenseless, he never should have lost his temper, he never should have been distracted… but more than that, he thinks in the quite hours of the night when both his children are asleep and he can let himself _feel_ as much as he needs to, he never should have been left to do this on his own. Sometimes, when the deliriousness of sleeplessness and tiredness and anxiety grabs hold of him, he asks _his_ picture if it had been worth it. If breaking the family that they had so painstakingly put together apart had been worth what they were going through now. Wherever he was.

Now, alone, he has to take care of a six month old baby that carries both their last names and serves as a reminder of everything they have lost. He carries the weight of his best friend’s paralysis and the burden of introducing Viz into a world that wants him locked in a cage. And to top it, his son, the one person who has been with him unconditionally through every shit storm the past year and a half has thrown them, is going out and risking his neck to protect his city. Sometimes, Tony wonders how his heart doesn’t give out under the stress. Most days, he thinks that the pain is too much to carry right before even more shit gets piled onto his shoulders.

But the problem with Peter takes precedence, because Tony can see him withering away right in front of him. Despite the danger, and his occasional recklessness, Peter had thrived under his patrolling schedule. Tony has the churro-induced voicemails to prove it, and he knows that keeping away from helping is slowly killing his son. If there was something he would have wished his son has skipped from both his parents, it would have been this. Not that he doesn’t want his son to be a hero, he’s damn proud of him and makes sure he tells him at every opportunity, but putting his neck on the line is never going to be something that Tony is going to be proud.

The thing with the Vulture shook him to his core, though, Tony knows exactly how that feels. That, combined with Tony’s lack of insight and attention when he needed him, something that he will always hate himself for, and the gaping hole in their family unit that never seems to close has shaken the poor kid up even more. With the arrival of Morgan, not that either Tony nor Peter would ever regret her, things have been more chaotic lately.

Tony finds him sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a Starkpad propped up on its casing and a calculus textbook open at his elbow. From somewhere, Fred’s voice (“Dad! It’s Ned! You’ve known him for like 10 years!”) is going on and on about some lego set he just got. Tony smiles as he makes his way to the fridge for a drink, partly stalling and partly just enjoying the familiar sound of his son jabbering on with his friend.

He’s half way through his drink when he realizes that these two won’t be ending the conversation any time soon, the kid non the line is barely describing the second repulsor blaster on his set because apparently they need to talk about legos in excruciating detail. Peter is not even halfway with his homework, which he usually finishes quickly, because he keeps getting distracted with just _how cool_ Ned’s new set sounds. Tony isn’t too concerned about the work, though, because he trusts his son and Peter has never in his life been sloppy when it comes to his homework.

“Hey Greg,” he says, finally interrupting their blabbering. He needs to get this done before Rhodey comes back and tries to chime in on it or Morgan needs a feeding or something else. He smirks at his son’s eyeroll and the other kid’s squeak. Ned has known him most of his life but for whatever reason he still gets nervous around Tony. “This all sounds fascinating, but I need to talk to Pete about something important and it can’t wait. You main letting him for a bit?”

“No, no, of course not, Mr. Stark,” the boy says in a rush. Rustling something in the back Tony does not even want to decipher. “We can just catch up tomorrow after school. Plus, I’m coming this weekend to start this new set—“Ned takes a deep breath and he sounds nervous when he comes back on the line. “I mean—I—if that’s still okay. I know Peter hadn’t really, um, asked for your permission or anything but—” Peter face plants, the back of his neck a bright red as he groans into his textbook. Tony’s children are actual human disasters.

“Ned, chill out,” he says with a chuckle and gives his son a squeeze on the shoulder. You know you’re always welcome to spend the weekend. Tell you what, Pete can call you back once we’re done with our conversation so you can hash it out. Okay?”

“Yes, co-cap, yes!” Ned says, and Tony feels Peter’s whole frame go stiff under his hand. Ned, on the other end of the line, mutters a quiet “oh shit!” before he starts in on the apologies. Tony cuts him off quickly, muttering something about calling later, as he hangs up the call with shaking fingers.

_Goddamn it,_ it had been over a year already. Why would the pain not get any fucking easier. Tony heaves a sigh as Peter continues to hide his face in his book. He pulls the stool next to his son out so he can sit down, keeping his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and waits him out. Tony massages his son’s back, reassuring slow passes up and down, as Peter’s whole frame shakes. Tony’s breath hitches, his throat getting tight with anger and pain at seeing his child this upset. It hadn’t been any easier for Peter than it had been for Tony, over half his pseudo-family gone and a father on the run like some two-bit criminal. The first four or so months had been _hell_. Peter had balanced between lethargy and long periods of acting out just for the sake of it. He had broken thousands of dollars in equipment in the lab and the training rooms; had thrown picture frames down the stairs and ripped picture frames off his walls. The last straw had been finding a toy, something silly and innocuous Steve had picked out for him on a mission when he was about seven, tossed out with the trash.

“Pete,” Tony whispers now, heart pounding in his chest. It’s always a toss-up, how Peter will react to breakdowns like this. Most days, in a move practiced by Tony which infuriates the mechanic, he’ll take a deep breath and tell his father that he’s fine. Other times, he’ll scream till he’s hoarse. Tony lets him have those because God knows it’s leaps and bounds better than destroying half the compound’s rooms. Less often, though, he will fling himself into his father’s arms and weep like his heart is broken. Tony’s own gets destroyed every time that happens. “Come on, kiddo. Come to dad, come one.”

Peter accepts comfort, this time and Tony sends a small prayer of thanks to the universe for it, easily this one time. He sobs, just once, and then throws his arms around Tony and almost knocks them both down. It’s a testament to the stress the poor kid has been carrying around lately that he’s beent this forthcoming with his pain. Tony holds him tight, one arm around his waist and the other hand on the back of his head; he rocks them, same soft motions he uses to lull Morgan to sleep, as he lets his son work through his pain.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says after what feels like an eternity of Tony’s heart being torn in his chest. “I know—I know how hard this is for you—” Peter’s breath hitches in his chest. “I don’t mean to make this any harder, I just—”

“Stop,” Tony says, fiercely, pressing a kiss to his boy’s forehead. Peter’s eyes are closed tight, breath still coming out more like sobs, but he grips Tony tightly and seems to find comfort in that. “You don’t have to apologize to me for this. Not now, not ever. You know you can count on me, always, to catch you when this happens. I know how hard this is, a ghrá, I hate that you have to go through this pain, so don’t you ever apologize to me for this. Not when I’m the one making you go through it.”

“It’s not you fault, babbo. I know how much it hurts you too. I just—I just keep thinking it’ll get easier, you know? I keep trying to make myself work through it; trying to tell myself that I have you and zio Rhodey and Viz, but it just—some days I just feel so _empty_. And I’m so—I’m so scared, _all the time_ , that something is going to happen and then I won’t have this anymore.”

“I’m not letting you lose anyone else, Peter. Do you hear me? I’m not putting you through this ever again. You don’t have to be scared.”

“You don’t know that,” Peter whispers into his shirt. “You don’t know that. Every time I feel like I might be getting better I just remember Aunt May, you know? The Vulture’s men… they just—so easy. She was gone, just like that. And the thought—just thinking it could happen to any of you. I just—”

“Is that why you haven’t’ been going on patrol as much anymore?” Tony asks, the pieces of this particular puzzle finally falling into place. “Because you think that if you leave the compound something will happen to one of us?”

“It was so easy for them to get to Aunt May, Babbo. She was supposed to be safe, _I_ was supposed to keep her safe, but instead I left her. I left her, Babbo, and they came, and they took her. I’m Spider-Man, you know, I’m supposed to protect people, but what good am if I can’t even—I can’t—“Peter’s breathing passes the threshold from upset into hyperventilating. Tony’s heart shreds with every word he speaks, but he can’t break down right now, not when his son needs him like this.

“It’s all right, Petey, it’s okay, honey,” Tony says quietly, carding his fingers through his boy’s hair. He grasps one of Peter’s hands, presses them against his chest, and takes a deep breath. “There, find my heartbeat, baby. You hear it?” Peter nods, breath still frantic. “Okay, okay, you’re doing so well. Now, match my breathing, bud. Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Tony takes exaggerated breaths, hoping his boy will match him. It takes a bit, but Peter gets there. When his breathing has calmed down, he sags against Tony’s chest, and the mechanic wraps him up in his arms tightly.

Sitting there, holding his son, Tony debates how much he can share with his boy. Up until this point he has been thinking that it’s his job to protect him. That he has to swallow all of it, all the pain and despair and pure _grief_ that came after—well, after. That Peter and Morgan should never see their father crumble; not when he was the only one left with nobody else to tag in. but maybe he’d gone about it the wrong way; Tony knows, goddamn well, his propensity to hide the way he actually feels. He knows that his proficiency at it manages to fool even those he trusts the most at times. maybe what Peter needed wasn’t the image of a strong parent, but of his dad who went through his trauma and is struggling, no matter how much practice he’s had, to work through the fall out.

“Peter,” he says quietly and nudges his boy a little when he makes an affirmative noise. It hits Tony, like a punch to the gut, to see Peter’s face. His eyes are swollen and his cheeks and nose are all red from his crying, he keeps biting his lip in that he’s done since he was very little and didn’t want to cry. “Hey, bambino, look at me, huh?” Tony chucks him lightly under the chin, and Peter forces his head up. “I—I understand, okay? It’s hard for me, too, every single day. I—I’m going to tell you some stuff, yeah? Because, Petey, this idea you have right now? that you have to okay, and you have to move on? It’s not—Peter, that’s just not true, okay? These kinds of things—love is so strange, bambino, love doesn’t work the way you think it might. When you love someone, the way you love your father, well… it makes things so much harder.”

“You’re moving on, though, babbo. I want to do the same. I want to—I want to be okay, for you, for the squirt—I just don’t want—”

“oh, baby,” Tony says and his heart aches for this boy. Trying to be so strong for everyone else he’s tearing himself apart. “Baby, you don’t have to be strong for us, okay? We’re family. We take care of each other. If you need help, then we help each other. You don’t have to carry all of that inside you, honey. It’s not good for you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Peter whispers, almost biting through his lip. Tony forces it out from between his teeth with a thumb, then tries to wipe the tears that don’t seem to stop. Tony knows he’s in a similar state, but still, the compulsion is there. “He’s already hurt you so much, dad. It feels like—”

“Like you have to make up for it?” Tony asks, a sad smile on his face. God, this kid is too much like him. “Like you don’t get to make mistakes because someone already made all of them? You feel like you have to make up for what someone else did?” Peter nods, his breath hitching again, and Tony leans forward to grasp his son’s hands. This might be the hardest thing he has ever done, trauma of the last year and a half aside, being this vulnerable in front of his son might actually be the biggest challenge of his life. “I feel like that, too, you know? With you and zio Rhodey and Morguna and even with Viz. I feel—I feel so responsible for what happen. Most days, I lay awake till two am trying to think of everything I could have done differently. I’m—it’s what I do, right? The mechanic? I fix things? But there is nothing I could do to fix this mess and I just—so I try. Every single day, I try to—to be strong. For you. I didn’t realize what I was doing to you, amore, I am so sorry.”

“No, babbo, no,” Peter says, and he’s crying again. Grabbing tightly to Tony’s chest as the man drags him back into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, dad.”

“Shhh, no. No. I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad, honey. I’m just—I just want you to know, Peter, that you don’t have to be strong. Not for us. Not when it’s hurting you this much. I know, baby, I know how much you miss patrolling. I know how much you miss going to Queens to see Nerd—”

“Dad!”

Tony chuckles wetly, his hand going up and down on Peter’s back in a motion that sooths them both. “I know, Peter. I see it in your eyes every time you’ve been cooped up here. I know how much you miss it, and I hate seeing you unhappy. I hate seeing what this is doing to me. Tell me how I can help, bambino, tell me how we can work this out.” His voice gets a little desperate at the end, but he’s at the end of his rope as it is. And he hates that Peter is feeling so burdened all the time; Tony feels like that, has felt like that for decades, and he would never want his son to go through the same thing.

“I just—I don’t know, babbo. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Peter cries, hands trembling.

“Nothing,” Tony says fiercely into his hair, eyes shut tight. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Peter. We’ll figure this out, okay? You and me, and the others. We will help you. We love you, bambino, so much. You hearing me? _We love you_ ”

“Yeah, dad,” Peter says, a huge sigh falling off his lips. “I hear you.”

 

                                                            ***

Hours later, once Tony tells Peter everything and they have an honest conversation with lots of crying and even more hugs, they are sitting on the sofa in front of the TV. Tony in the corner, head thrown back, while Peter rests his head on his lap and stretches on the couch. One hand grasps the fabric of Tony’s pants tightly even in sleep. Tony, for his part, keeps carding his fingers through his boy’s hair and leaning down to press a kiss to his head.

“Hey,” Rhodey says from the doorway, Morgan in his arms as he strolls into the room. “You guys okay?”

“No,” Tony says, sincerely for the first time in a long time. Rhodey gives him a surprised look, but doesn’t ask. “We’re a mess. We’ve been a mess for—this entire time, but we talked. We—it was hard, but I think we both needed it.”

“Yeah?” Rhodey says, coming up to Tony to hand over his youngest so he can get some baby cuddles. They always make everything better, after all. Morgan doesn’t even stir as she’s handed to her father, and Tony smiles. “You wanna talk to your brother about it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tony says, surprising himself. Rhodey’s face shows the same emotion, and Tony smiles softly, closing his eyes and leaning to nuzzle Morgan’s soft hair. “Just not right now. I just—”

“Yeah, you just get your cuddles, Tones. Just—just rest. We’ll talk after.”

“Mmmkay,” Tony says, eyes already drooping.

He leans his head back against the couch again, feeling the comforting weight of Morgan on his chest and her tiny fist grasping his shirt and his son by his side, he starts dropping quickly. Peter mumbles something against him and gets closer. This, right here, is everything. The pain, the grief, the bitterness, the anger—it’s all secondary to this. Tony would move the entire universe for them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone. An album. A life. A heart.

_“Pete! Pete, come on, baby! Come on, bambino, you can do it!” Tony’s smile threatens to split his face in half. He’s crouching halfway through their living room, back in the tower, staring at a seven month old Peter with the most serious expression a toddler could ever have. He’d been standing up, all-be-it wobbly for a couple weeks by then, making grabby hands whenever one of his adults walked by, but hadn’t mastered the art of walking quite yet. Tony was not to be deterred, however, no matter how many times Steve or one of the others told him it was a little too soon for him to be able to do so. He wouldn’t listen, though, and that day he would get the vindication he deserved. “Come on, Tesoro, you’ve got this. Come get babbo!”_

_Peter had giggled, bouncing up and down on his little knees as he looked at his Daddy and his excitement. Steve had been shaking, holding his phone to record the moment even though he knew JARVIS got them covered. Still, there was something nice about being in charge of keeping these memories. Peter bounced up and down again before doing the impossible._

_The footage shakes and there’s a crack! As the phone hits the floor. Steve had picked it up immediate, now even more wobbly than before, as he sat stunned. Peter hadn’t even hesitated; one minute he was bouncing up and down and the next he was babbling, putting one tiny foot in front of the other as he walked up to his dad._

_“Oddio,” Tony had breathed as he caught Peter in his arms. “You walked! Oh God, bambino! You did it! You did it!” He tossed Peter up into the air as the baby giggled in delight. “Good job, Peter!”_

_“I can’t believe that just happened,” Steve’s voice said behind the camera. He sounded breathless, like he was the one that had just taken his first steps towards Tony, but he had been so happy. His heart filled to near bursting as he stared at his boys._

_“I told you!” Tony crowed, blowing a raspberry on Peter’s chubby cheek. “We told Papa that you could, didn’t we, sweetheart?” At the mention of Papa, Peter had turned around and babbled seriously at him. His little chubby face looking more solemn than Steve could handle and he burst out laughing. “You want Papa? Huh, baby? Go! Go get him!”_

_Tony had turned Peter around and set him back on his feet. Peter’s look of concentraditon didn’t break as he toddled his way to Steve, little hands grasping the air in front of him, as Steve encouraged him to go go go go a stór, you got it!_

There’s a crack, and pain in his left hand where he had been holding on to the railing, as it snaps in his hands. Steve stands with his head bowed in some quiet little town in Austria as the video plays in his phone. He should have thrown it away, Sam and Natasha had said, it was StarkTech. Tony could have tracked him if he wanted to, if he had wanted to turn them in, it would have been so easy. Steve had snarled a heartfelt **_never_** at the suggestion. The little piece of plastic and glass and circuits was all he had left.

It was filled with all the memories he couldn’t afford to forget. There were so many videos. Thousands of pictures that made him smile and his heart ache something fierce in equal measure. There were messages that he had been going back and rereading for the last two years; words that hadn’t seemed to matter much at the time, but now meant everything to him. Little notes that made little sense but contained the secrets to the universe by equal measure. He couldn’t bear to let all of that go.

Plus, Tony would never. Despite how much Steve had fucked up, all the bridges he had burned, Tony was better than that. Tony had always been better than that.

Now all Steve had was a pocket full of memories, and a chain with a ring around his neck, and the constant feeling of emptiness that filled his chest with every breath. He bowed his head again, gritted his teeth against the sobs that were threatening to choke him and put the phone against his ear.

_“Hey, love,” Tony’s voice had sounded sleepy and sated. The voicemail was from three months before Steve destroyed them; a week after their anniversary. “I just woke up and I gotta tell ya, I’m incredibly upset that you’re not here with me. It’s unfair, really, to make me wake up all alone like this—”_

Steve closed his eyes and wept, alone in the cold of a fall afternoon in Austria, miles away from his family.

                                                            ***

“Wanda hasn’t commed in,” are Nat’s first words when he comes out of his room and into the kitchen for some breakfast. His eyes feel sore and his hand was still shaking, but he ignored it. There was nothing he could do about that. There hadn’t been anything he could do but sit on his fucking ass for the last two years. Running, hiding, hunting… mindlessly moving through the motions.

Natasha had found them in Wakanda; one day he had been walking around the market place, aimless going from stall to stall to see what the locals had to offer and feeling a pang in his chest every time something caught his attention.

_Peter would find that interested._

_Oh, that’s a nice necklace. You know my son once—_

_Bet that bracelet would look great against Tony’s skin._

_Tony and I used to kiss like that, once, he would—_

_Peter and Tony would die to visit this place._

Everywhere he went. Every place he sought a distracted, there was always something that would make his mind run back to them. The color of the sky near twilight was exactly like Peter’s when he was in the sun. The feel of the breeze on his cheeks during another restless night ambling around the palace grounds reminded him of the first night of their honeymoon. The tech, goddamn it all, the tech brought a flash of brown eyes and a whiff of metal and cologne every single day.

It’s almost two years. The weight of the burner phone he sent Tony is a permanent brand on his skin. He checks on it constantly, staring at it almost obsessively trying to will his husband to text him, call him, anything even if it’s just to tell him to drop dead. He wonders if Tony ever told Peter. He wonders what sort of memories his son has of him; if he remembers the baseball games, the sparring sessions, the walks to the library, the trips to the museum and the park. He wonders if his son remembers the team dinners, the alone dinners with just the three of them, the galas, the SI events. He wonders if Peter thinks back to the way Steve carried Tony in his arms after missions, or the way Tony hooked his pinky around Steve’s as they ate, or how Tony used to look at him like he was the center of his universe.

Steve wonders what Peter’s image of them is. If he remembers his parents as being in love, content and sated in each other’s presence. Or if it’s all tinted with betrayal and regret now. He wonders if Peter now sees it differently; not as Steve loving Tony just as fiercely, but as something darker, uglier. He wonders if Peter thinks of Steve as the man who took all the love Tony gave him and then stabbed him in the back with it.

He wonders if _Tony_ thinks of him that way.

Scratch that, he knows Tony does.

_He’s my friend._

_So was I._

Only Tony wasn’t just his friend. Tony was his _best_ friend, his companion, his partner, his bonded… Tony was the love of his life, and now all of that is gone. Now Steve has no idea what the hell is going on with him, with his son; he doesn’t know if they’re okay, if they’re holding it together or if they’ve started drifting apart. Grief is an ugly, hard thing, and sometimes it takes the best of us. His heart breaks every time he starts to wonder if Peter feels abandoned, or if Tony feels alone.

“Steve? Did you hear what I said?” It’s only when Natasha speaks that he realizes he has been staring at an empty bowl for the last few minutes. From the corner of his eye he can see Sam sitting up on the couch and throwing a concerned glance their way. Steve waves an arm at him and goes to the cupboard to get some cereal.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he tells Nat quietly.

“Steve—”

“she’s got a com unit on her. She’s smart. She’s powerful. If she were in trouble, she would have let us know already. Nothing we can do by freaking out about her. Remember last time?” and yeah, Steve knows he sounds a little upset. He can’t exactly help her. Wanda has been reckless in the past, and even though Steve _knows_ that Tony would never send Viz as a decoy, or that Viz would even let himself be used that way, he had worried. He had had an irrational fear that if he lost Wanda then part of the reason he was even on the run would go up in flames.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Cap,” Natasha has that look in her face that says she won’t be letting this go anytime soon. Steve sighs, sitting at the table with her because he knows she wont let it go and will probably just follow him into his room. He’s been keeping his private spaces just that for the past two years, which is hard sometimes when there’s four people on the run trying to hide at the bottom of the barrel so that no one can find them.

“How long has it been since she was supposed to check in?” He says, eyes drifting over to Sam and the TV. There’s some sort of natural disaster going on somewhere, there are people running around on the television and the footage looks shaky; the strip at the bottom just says “BREAKING NEWS” in alarmingly red letters.

“Last night. I was going to talk to you then, but—”

“Mmmm,” he says concomitantly. Natasha has been trying to get him to talk about his feelings since she joined them in Wakanda. The only thing he had managed to actually be truthful about had been Bucky, and isn’t that a bitch. Used to be that he would rather walk through glass than talk about what Bucky’s condition was doing to him.

Now it was the easiest thing in the world; he would talk himself hoarse about Bucky if one of his friends asked. Of course, he would get to it a little too late. He’s always too goddamn fucking late.

“Steve! Look, I get it. This is hard for you, but this is serious. Our friend is—”

“A goddamn adult!” Steve slams his hand on the table, rattling the plates there. Natasha doesn’t even blink, but Steve knows her. He can read the surprise on her face. He guesses she hadn’t been expecting him to break this fast, but it’s been a long time coming. He’s been fraying at the edges since he dragged Bucky out of that bunker. “She’s old enough to make her own decisions, Nat. She’s with Viz, anyway, if they’re in trouble I really wouldn’t want to be the person that messes with them.”

“You didn’t feel like that two years ago,” Natasha bites back. He knew the moment his palm hit the table that she would come back with something vicious. They’ve been rubbing off against each other’s space for too long; they’re all angry and tense. He knows it was only a matter of time before they were biting each other’s heads off.

“Don’t,” he tells her quietly, pain flaring up in his chest. He can see where this road leads them and he does not want to be the person responsible for breaking what little is left of their team.

“Steve—” but whatever she was going to say is cut off by the sound of Sam falling off the couch. They both turn to look at him, and that’s when Steve notices it.

On the screen, what he thought was a disaster somewhere remote, is actually New York. Amid the dust and confusion and utter pandemonium, in the background, the silhouette of Stark Tower. Steve can’t even afford a second of heartache at that, though, because the focus of the scene takes precedence.

“Spaceships,” he whispers, eyes stuck to the screen. “Sam, turn it up!” he barks at his friend, and for once there is no commentary from the other man as he does as he’s told.

“—There is still no word from the authorities as to what this is. We—we’re trying to get as close as we can, but there appears to be a sort of forcefield keeping us at a safer distance. Earlier, we saw a man in some sort of—of red cape walking down the street. One witness reports to have seen Tony Stark’s Iron Man armor—”

Steve’s vision goes white around the edges at that and there’s a ringing in his ears that doesn’t let him think. He stares at the screen, horrified, as a blurry red shape zooms past on the top corner. The reporter is still talking, but all Steve can hear is the whine of repulsors as the armor picks up speed following some—thing, floating up towards the space ship.

Steve’s mind does the math. There were supposed to be three official Avengers in New York at the time of the attack. Now, Vision is in Amsterdam. Rhodey, and Steve’s stomach twists with the thought, might not be in any sort of condition to be Avenging. Which means—

“He’s alone,” surprisingly enough it’s not Steve who says it. It’s Sam, sitting back on the couch, eyes trained on the television. “Isn’t he? He’s the only one left.”

_The only one left,_ Steve thinks, mind whirling. He had been so stupid. He had been so stupid to ever tell Tony that the Avengers were his when he had left him in a compound alone and with none of them near. He knows things between Clint and Tony had been terrible since the so-called Civil War happened, Scott hadn’t had anything to go on about him other than all the shit Clint and Wanda had said, and Sam and Steve’s silence. And then there was--

            “Spider-Man,” Nat says, ear pressed against her phone but eyes wide as the camera now zooms on the image of the kid, _his son_ , swinging off a pole in the forefront, and the storm dust in the background.

            “Forget the com,” Steve can barely recognize his own voice. He feels exactly like he did waiting for the water to shut him down, cold and numb. “We’re tracking her down. Wheels up in less than five.”

            He hears Sam scramble off the couch and slam the door on his way out. Nat curses something under her breath as she runs to her room to gather her gear. For a second, Steve stands in the silent kitchen and doesn’t do anything. Then, without his mind even sending the command, his fist slams against the wall and a distant sting flares up from his knuckles.

            _God, what are they going into now?_

_***_

            Sitting in the quin after getting Wanda and Vision out of danger feels a lot like dejavu. They’re all quiet and tense, Steve himself is scared out of his mind, and it feels so much like the hopeless atmosphere from their first defeat in the face of Ultron. Wanda sits with Vision sitting by her side, hands clasped together, as she presses a bandage against the wound in his side. Sam is piloting the jet, sitting stiff and tense in the pilot’s chair, and Nat stands still as a statue in front of Wanda and Vision.

            “I thought we’d agreed,” she bites out of the words, jerky movements. “No unnecessary risks. You check in—”

            “Yeah, I know,” Wanda says, sounding frustrated. Steve feels a stab of irritation as he looks at her, though he tries his best to look impassive. Nat throws a look at him that he refuses to acknowledge. They do not have the time for him to tear a strip off the two of them at the moment.

            “Vision,” he says, voice quiet with authority. The android grimaces as he sits up, but tries his best to look at him. “I need you to answer me truthfully. Is there any way for you to communicate with T—with New York?” he catches himself at the last minute and resolutely pushes the fear and heartache that flares up.

            “No,” Vision says with a sigh. “I—the transponder Mr. Stark gave me must still be at the hotel. I turned it off,” he throws a quick glance at Wanda but she’s doing a damn good job of pretending to dress Vision’s wound. The coil of resentment gets a little loose, and Steve resolutely tightens it back up. “And I promised him I would not try to communicate by any other—unconventional means. I have yet to try it, but I don’t believe I would be able to even if I did. I’m sure it wouldn’t be outside the realm of possibility that he might have—ah,” he looks up with something like regret. “Taken measures against the possibility.”

            “So he’s locked you out of his systems. Still mistrusting you even after—”

            “Can you blame him?” Sam says from the pilot’s seat, the first words he’s spoken to the pair since their impromptu rescue.

            “Sam,” Nat reprimands quietly but her mouth is twisted in an unhappy curve and Steve’s hands are tight fists as he tries to reign in his temper. Christ, it has been long enough. He would have thought Wanda would grow out of the resentment, though he supooses it should have been obvious that she was vehemently against it after the comments she’s made since Clint “liberated her” from the compound.

            “Nah, I’m serious,” he presses something on the controls and gets off the chair. They continue gliding through airspace and Steve thanks Tony for his tech even if it does bring a pang to his sternum. “Did he know where you were going?” he directs the question at Vision.

            “I didn’t tell him, but I’m quite sure he knows.”

            “He’s one of the smartest men on the planet, of course he knows,” Wanda snaps at Sam.

            “Exactly, so for all Stark knows Vision has switched sides and might not be as trustworthy as he thought he was. Look, I know it’s been two years, but this is Stark. I may not know him that well, but I know the guy has trust issues. In his mind, it’s probably not that big of a leap to think any of us could convince Vision to hack into his system and find out what he’s doing.” _It’s not like we haven’t done it before,_ is left unsaid, but Steve still flinches at the implication. He tells himself that getting into Tony’s network had been necessary to get his friends out of jail and really, if the man hadn’t wanted them to, Steve knows damn well not even Shuri could have helped without triggering some kind of alarm.

            “So Vision’s out of the question,” Steve interrupts when Wanda opens her mouth. He sends her a glare that used to work with Peter when he was in a mood to be sassy, and he’s glad that it works on her too. “Still, we need to find out what’s going on if—”

            “He’s gone,” Vision tells him quietly, wincing as his wound pulls. Steve goes very, very still at his words. His fury must be clear on his face, though, because Vision’s complexion goes a tad paler, something Steve didn’t even know was possible. “We saw the news before we were attacked. It—they said he was missing.”

            “What are you telling me.” Steve’s voice is harsh and unforgiving as he takes a step towards the android. “You better not be—”

            But before Steve can finish the thought, there is a shrill ring that seems to echo in their confined space. His eyes widen as he pulls it out of his pocket, hands trembling, and gingerly holds it in his hands. He suddenly feels like it’s 1936 again and he’s trying to run away from a pack of boys who’d taken an issue to his mouth. He feels as though the air isn’t making the whole trip it should be taking into his lungs.

            “Answer it,” Nat’s hard voice slams him back into the very real situation they have in their hands at the moment.

            He flips it open and puts the speaker up to his ear, but words fail him. What is he supposed to do now? What does he say? Where does he start? Is _I love you please forgive me, tell me you’re okay_ , too little too late?

            “Hello? Steve? Cap, is that you?” but it turns out his whirling thoughts are for nothing. He can’t even think of how insane it is to heart _Bruce_ of all people after all this time, after they were so sure he was gone for good, because that’s Bruce with _Tony’s phone_. That’s Bruce in a line that Steve painstakingly kept alive in case _his husband_ was in danger and needed him.

            “Bruce,” he says quietly and Natasha hisses like she’s been punched in the stomach. “What the hell is going on?”

                                                                        ***

            Turns out, it’s fucking aliens again. Steve hadn’t even finished asking the question when Sam was already back on the pilot’s chair punching in coordinates. Steve sends a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity gifted him with such a good friend who knows exactly where his thought process is going. Steve doesn’t have to fight and rationalize with Sam because the man understands what he needs. It’s a nice change to the constant struggle it has been for the past two years to just try to get his point across.

            So Bruce tells him what happened, and it takes both Natasha and Vision to get him to let go of the phone and sit down at what the man on the other line is telling him. The ringing in his ears is back, and he knows that Sam and Wanda are trying to talk him out of his impending panic attack, but he can’t hear shit of what they’re saying because all he has, stuck on a loop, are Bruce’s words. _They’re gone. Missing. Tony was helping the wizard try to protect the infinity stone (whatever the fuck that was) when this guy Spider-Man had barreled in and tried to help_ Bruce had lost sight of them; the last image he had was of Tony’s repulsors blasting to follow Spider-Man who was dangling off the alien’s made-up platform.

            It was a safe bet to guess where they had gone after that. Now, the donut space ship shit was gone. And with it his family.

            He’s rocking himself back and forth on his seat, elbows on his thighs and his fingers tearing at his hair, as he tries to gulp in air. His chest feels tight, though, the belts and zippers on his suit constraining and, God, everything is so fucking hot. Why is everything so hot, the air, the suit, the seat, the tears running down his cheeks. Jesus. Christ, what is he going to do. He was supposed to protect them. He was supposed to be there. He was his husband, Peter’s Papa, he was supposed to keep them fucking safe and now—now—

            Somewhere over the Atlantic, Steve loses the fight against his mind as the panic overwhelms him and his hyperventilating keeps him from getting the oxygen that he needs.

                                                                        ***

            He’s next aware of his surroundings when Vision grunts from somewhere near him and he feels the quin begin to descend. Natasha is sitting next to him, one hand on the arm rest between them, and without thinking he throws his hands over hers and holds on tightly. Not enough to break her delicate fingers, but just enough to hold on. He doesn’t want to think about what’s coming, what he will find, the greeting he will get. He doesn’t want to think about Thaddeus Ross waiting with a convoy for them. He doesn’t want to think about the people missing in his home. He doesn’t want to think about the bleakness and barely-hidden anger he’d heard in Rhodey’s voice when Bruce had passed him the phone.

            He walks out of the quin mindlessly and blind. All he knows is that he has to find Rhodey and Bruce, has to make a plan, and above all has to find out what had happened to his family. He leads his friends across the lawn from the helipad and into the compound. He takes a second, allows himself just one, to take in the smell of _home_ and to feel how right it feels to be back before he moves on to the war room.

            Steve will remember them later, after his whole world comes crumbling down around his ears, he will remember the itty-bitty shoe that had been lying on the ground at the entrance of the war room. He will remember the baby-powder scent that was barely in the air but to which his senses had become quite accustomed to when his son was little. He will remember all of this later, after he’s told Ross exactly where he can shove his accords bullshit. After he has told Ross to go fuck himself because he was here for his husband and son, who should have _never_ have had to face those things alone, and that he would be damned if he was taken away from doing something _helpful_ for them again.

            After Rhodey has stood his ground for them and baited Ross into court-martialing him, after Bruce had quietly and awkwardly worked himself into the room. After they had begun their discussion, their desperate attempt at understand what had happened; after they have looked after Vision’s wound and one of them had suggested food. He won’t remember exactly what led him to turn his head. It was something quiet, though, in the sudden stillness of the room. His hearing had managed to catch the faint sound of footsteps.

            His head had snapped to the sound; footsteps that had sounded too light and too unsure to be anything but a baby. He would know that sound anywhere, it used to be one of his favorites, maybe it still was. Back when Peter had delighted himself with toddling everywhere and bouncing out of walls and giggling as he went.

            He notices the hair, first, peeking over the step that leads from the hallway into the war room. It’s not as curly as Peter’s no, but it’s almost the exact shade of brown. There’s her little, tiny forehead too. Not as pale as Peter and Steve’s but still not the same olive as Tony’s. Her big, brown eyes, though. God. Those are almost identical; not in color, no, but they’re just as big and the lashes just as dark and curled the way Tony’s are. She raises her head a little more, a chubby little fist going up to his mouth as their eyes meet. She can’t be more than 10 months, but her eyes are bright with understanding. She tilts her head, and then she’s scrambling over the step.

            “Rhodes—” the name is strangled out of his throat as he gets off his chair and onto his knees in an easy glide to the floor. It’s so simple, ingrained in his memories now as something that he just _does_ , and the baby seems to give up on the walking because she just gets on her hands and knees and begins crawling like someone is chasing her.

            “Morgan!” Rhodes says, trying to get her attention, but she ignores him completely.

            The baby has her eyes locked on Steve, and he can’t do anything but stare as she determinedly crosses the space between them until she’s sitting on her bottom right in front of him and making grabby hands up at his face. His hands are shaking violently as he grabs hold of her little fists and helps her stand up, helping her as though she’s made of glass, and then she smiles at him. Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he grabs hold of her and brings her up into his arms. She’s still smiling, this tiny little thing brighter than the sudden, and Steve loves her. Right there and then, there’s an irrevocable feeling of love in his chest that—jesus. He loves this baby girl in a way he’s only felt once before.

            “Papapapapapa,” she babbles as she grabs hold of his cheeks in her clumsy little hands and tries to bring him closer. Steve gives her a little skimo kiss, out of habit, and she giggles and slaps his hands against his cheeks. “Papa ‘tee,” she says and this time it sounds more like a name. Steve can’t let himself hope it is what he hears.

            _No,_ his mind screams. _No, not like this. Not like this._

            “Rhodes,” he says again, pleadingly. He doesn’t want it to be true and he doesn’t want to let the little girl go in equal measure. She taps him on the cheek again and hums contentedly as he brings her up to her chest. “Rhodes, tell me—”

            “Her name’s Morgan,” Rhodey says with an air of the defeat as he stares at them. Everyone else in the room seems to be holding their breath. “Well, Sarah really but To—we’ve just been calling her Morgan.”

            “Morgan,” he breathes against her soft hair. The baby his arms makes an inquisitive noise but doesn’t pull again. She just snuffles against his neck and sighs happily.

            “Yeah,” Rhodey croaks quietly, sitting next to Steve with some difficulty. A distant part of the soldier’s mind hopes he isn’t even contemplating to take the baby away from him because he’s quite sure he’d rip it off. “Sarah Morgan Star—”

            “Rhodey?” Steve asks, begs, as he closes his eyes and cups a hand at the back of the baby’s head.

            “Stark-Rogers. Her name is Sarah Morgan Stark-Rogers. She’s—she’s yours.”

            Distantly, Steve feels some part of him get ripped away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony was an idiot to think Peter was smarter than his fathers.

“Babbo?” the word barely makes it through the static that seems to be permeating his com link. Tony leans back against the wall of the _alien shit, and jesus Christ he does not have the time for an anxiety attack right now,_ and closes his eyes. For a second, a single horrible second, he wants to pretend he never heard it. He wants to let the distance between home, _Earth_ , and himself is too great and he has lost communication. He can’t, though, he cannot do that to his child. At the very least, he needs Peter to know that he loves them. At the very least, Peter will be able to give Morgan his love and all the kisses Tony is going to miss. He’d already had to override Karen so that the suit disengaged the parachute and took his child home and he doesn’t think he’s able to have another goodbye.

            “ _Ho capito, Peter_ ,” he takes a big breath and tries to stop the trembling in his fingers. His throat feels tight, but he swallows past the lump. “ _Mi dispiace, Tesoro_ , it seems like I won’t be making it home for dinner.”

            “Per favore, babbo, tornare,” Tony closes his eyes tight at the fear and pain he hears in his kid’s voice. Peter knows the language well enough, but he doesn’t make it a habit of speaking it to anyone other than Tony and Morgan. And that is only when and if he’s feeling particularly emotional. To hear it now breaks Tony’s heart. He wants nothing more than to get off the fucking donut and go home, hug his kids close, and keep them safe.

            Alas, he knows this is the only way. The threat won’t go away just because Tony is on Earth. He knows that, he’s _known_ that for the last decade, but now it’s even more pressing. If Thanos gets his hands on the time stone, there’s one less obstacle for him to get through. He’s one step closer to eradicating half the universe, and that is a gamble that Tony simply will not take. So he grits his teeth and gives himself a second, just one second, to let his boy know his truth. He’s not naïve enough to think he’s coming back from this particular excursion. “Tá mé i ngrá leat _, a stór,”_ Tony says for the both of them. _I love you. I love you from both your parents._ Because Tony knows his husband, knows him to a level that he had never thought possible, and he knows that wherever he is  he will know, and soon, and he will try to fight. God knows if he will have the time or the means to check on the kids.

           “Dad, please,” Peter says just as FRIDAY alerts him that his son is now dangling off the fucking ship and that is simply a gamble he won’t take.

            “Ti amo, bambino, but I need you to stay safe,” and before Peter can continue his protestations, he tells his AI to disengage the kid’s parachute and send him home. When he gets the confirmation, he sags against the nearest wall and forces his mind to recede its panic.

            This is fine, he screams at himself, this is the best solution. He cannot have any of his children so close to danger. One of these alien fuckers had been enough to wipe the floor with four enhanced people. There is no way he will have any of his kids around for that kind of showdown. If these were the appetizers, God only knows what Thanos will do with them once they get close enough to attack.

            “B-boss—boss” FRIDAY’s voice comes to him through static and his heart beats a loud staccato in his chest. _No. Not her too._ “B—Boss, I’m go—too—” and just like that his last connection to home gets lost.

            The panic threatens to choke him so he forces himself to get moving because the longer he stands there, the harder it will be for him to do what’s right. He knows, _he knows_ , that this is where he is supposed to be. He has to keep the danger as far away from his kids as he can, but for one single second he can’t help but feel infinitely alone. If by some miracle he makes it out of this, there will be nobody but Strange for company. He would be stranded—oh God.

            He pushes one foot in front of the other as he walks to the edge of the platform he is suspended on. He has to guide his scans through extremis now, without FRIDAY’s help, and he has never felt more grateful for the curse of his ever-sprinting mind than he does in that moment. It’s easier to compartmentalize the panic and the fear when has so much to run and observe and calculate.

            First, it appears that Squidward is alone on the ship. Tony wishes this wasn’t such a life or death situation because the amount of tech he’s surrounded with is actually insane. He can feel the innovation and advancement thrumming through his veins by being so close to something he had only dreamt about, but he forces himself to focus. Strange is down there, and there seems to be some kind of surgical… needles? Jesus, are those needles? From Tony’s vantage point it looks like Squidward is about to turn the wizard into an inside out porcupine. Which… okay. Not ideal. Christ. This is so above his paygrade. What the hell is he supposed to do? If he attacks directly, which is what his usual MO is, they are both dead. Squidward had already wiped the floor with his face once, and that was with FRIDAY’s help.

            Okay, okay. He’s got this. He forces himself to take a deep breath. One, two, three, four, in. hold. One, two, three, four, out. Hold. He can hear Steve’s voice in his head telling him to get his breathing under control; can feel the phantom weight and warmth of his hand running up and down his back. Tony hates that the process is so fucking familiar to him now; he’s been dreaming up fake Steve’s for a while now, worse still after Morgan came around as he was faced with the monumental task of parenting two children alone, so the process is familiar. He hates himself for needing that comfort so much, but he has never been able to grow out of it. Not even in the last two years without a husband.

            He’s so caught up in trying to control his breathing that he doesn’t feel the comfortable weight around his shoulders as soon as he probably should have. Needless to say, however, that he almost gives out his location with a shriek when he realizes that he’s not as alone as he thought he was. There’s something soft and warm that he can feel even through the armor, and when he turns around all he can see is crimson. For a second, and sue him he’s in an alien spaceship shaped like a donut with a squid evil pilot and a wizard he’s allowed to feel out of it, he think he’s passed out. He had hyperventilated a little too hard and now he’s made himself go unconscious.

            But nope, the thing is actually real. A closer look at it, the lapels are standing up in the imitation of a fighting stance and honestly what in the ever-loving hell is Tony’s life now, reveals to be Strange’s cape. Cloak? He thinks the wizard had called it a cloak.

            “Wow, you are a seriously loyal piece of outer-wear, aren’t you?” he tells it and the thing, no joke, actually fucking shrugs. Tony is going to need so much therapy if he ever makes it back to earth because really, honestly, what in the fuck?

            “Um, speaking of loyal--?” a voice behind him asks and Tony feels his chest seize up. Usually he’s one to play the dramatics just for funsies, but this time it’s actually true. The voice sends his chest into contractions that are probably not good for his health but what the _fuck_ —

            “I thought I told you to go home!” he whisper-shouts because he’s stuck in a flying donut with an alien that could probably kill them all with a thought and his idiot _son_ to whom he gave _specific instructions to go home_ apparently refused to do just that. When Peter opens his mouth to start talking, all Tony can get out is a weak “Stop”

            But since when has the blabbermouth ever done what he’s told? Even when he was barely two years old and they told him not to run so much or he’d bump his head, he’d gone right ahead and done _just that._ “I know, I know! But I—”

            “I don’t wanna hear it,” he says, and he can feel the Cloak standing behind him and honestly shit is weird enough now that it’s slightly comforting. Like having another person there to co-parent with when his child is doing something this reckless. It’s kind of sad that having that space empty for so long makes him crave whatever scraps he can get now.

            “It was such a long way down, and I guess this new suit is super intuitive?” Peter is not stopping his nervous word-puke and Tony honestly has no words anymore. His mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out a way to send his kid back home without getting all of them killed. What in the world is he supposed to do now? This is exactly why—

            “So, if you think about it, this is kind of your fault…?” he tunes back in long enough to hear the words that just came out of the boy’s mouth. Tony looks up from he had been fidgeting with the GPS tracker on his arm and tries his very best not to let the scream come out of his mouth.

            “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” he asks his son careful; at his back, he can feel the Cloak stand taller and lean closer against his side. It’s a testament to how much of an idiot his son is that even a sentient piece of cloth can sense what Tony is thinking.

            “I—I take that back and— now I’m here in space!” Peter’s eyes are wide, with fear or guilt, Tony doesn’t know. At that moment he looks so impossibly young, just a kid with a superpowered suit who was supposed to be on a bus to a fieldtrip at that moment and instead is here. Because apparently, he might not be the Stark-Rogers’s biological child, but he sure as fuck had inherited their knack for stupid heroism.

            “Yeah! Right where I didn’t want you to be. Peter, this isn’t one of your school trips. This—this is a one way ticket, okay?” Something in Tony’s face must have shown his terror because Peter takes a step forward with a soft _babbo_ that he knows damn well his father has never been able to resist. So he just hauls him into his arms and buries his head into his son’s hair. “You didn’t think this through at all.”

            “I did, swear, I did,” Peter says into his chest and Tony rolls his eyes and steps away.

            “You could have not possibly thought this through. Did you think about your father, huh?” Peter knows he’s not speaking for himself because he lowers his eyes to the floor. “Do you have any idea what this is going to do to him? He’s already going to be stressed trying to fight whatever threat they have on their hands, I’m not stupid enough to think that guy down there is the only one, and now you’re missing, Peter! The comms are down, FRIDAY and KAREN are down, what do you think is going to go through his head?!”

            “That you were alone, and I was the only one who could help you,” Peter says, coldly. Tony feels a chill run down his spine at the words and the implication that this is what Peter has been thinking for the past two years. “Me, zio Rhodey and Viz are all that’s left. I know Viz turned off his transponder weeks ago, I know where he is, and zio Rhodey has enough on his hands with the UN and the Accords. I wasn’t going to let you—” Peter is still looking at the floor but his shoulders are shaking in that way they do when he’s trying his best not to cry and Tony’s heart breaks in his chest.

            “Bambino, this isn’t your fight—”

            “Yes, it is!” Peter says urgently, looking at him. “You told me, months ago, to concentrate on being the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, right? Well, I can’t be that if there is no neighborhood!” Tony just looks at him for second, this heroic idiot of a son he’s been blessed with, and can’t help but feel an utter love and awe that he has played a part in raising him. Peter is the best parts of himself, and even if he wishes he could wrap him and his daughter in a bubble and keep them far away from this mess, Tony knows that is impossible. The best he can do is have Peter’s six at all times. The boy must confuse his silence for anger, though, because he starts stress-blabbering again. “Okay, that didn’t really make sense, but—”

 

            “Just, get over here,” Tony says, compartmentalizing _again_ and forcing himself to focus on the problem at hand. There is absolutely no way he’s going to figure out a way to send Peter home at the moment; not without figuring out the Squidward issue first. He, quite honestly, has no clue what to do so he might as well use the child’s genius brain at the moment even though his entire insides twist at the thought of having him here. “There’s the situation,” he tells him, “I need ideas. Go.”

            Peter crouches down at the edge of that platform where they are and leans over to look at where the alien has Strange levitating; one of the spikes has pierced his cheekbone and Tony has to resist the urge to just drop down and yank it off. It looks painful, and the man might be the only person who could get his child back home where he belongs. If they don’t do something to help him soon, they’re going to be even worse sitting ducks than they already are.

            Finally, Peter stands back up with a sigh and turns his big brown eyes on Tony, the aha! Smile he’d taken from his dad making him look even younger than he actually is. “Okay, so remember that really old movie Alien that you let me watch even though Papa said no?”

           

            Turns out, when and if Tony gets back on earth, he has one more thing to rub on the good captain’s face.

 


End file.
